The battlefield had fallen silent.
Where once the shrieks of demons and the clang of steel dominated Paris, now only the crackling of fire and the slow drip of black ichor remained. The city that had roared with chaos just hours ago stood still, broken, and bleeding.
Akira stood at the center of it all, his katana buried in the cracked earth, his aura still raging like an untamed storm. The remnants of his killing intent made even the surviving demons tremble until the last of them dissolved into nothingness.
Rehan staggered forward, his body cut and bruised, but his eyes locked on Akira. Ishita clung to his arm for balance, her scarlet glow fading, her breaths shallow. Zahir approached from the other side, sand still drifting off his body like desert smoke.
And between them all, lying in the rubble, was Ethan.
---
Ethan's Collapse
Akira dropped to his knees beside Ethan, sliding an arm under his friend's bloodied shoulders. The sight carved into his soul—Ethan's chest barely rising, his lips cracked, his skin pale beneath the smears of black blood.
"Stay with me, brother…" Akira's voice trembled, a rare crack in his usually unshakable tone. His grip tightened, as though sheer will could hold Ethan's soul in place.
Ethan gave a weak chuckle, his voice raspy.
"Tch… Akira… always the dramatic one. You took your time."
Rehan stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "He's dying. We need to move him, now!"
Akira's gaze snapped toward Rehan, sharp as a blade. For a heartbeat, the tension between them was palpable—two burning wills clashing silently. Then Akira nodded.
"You're right. But we move him carefully. If his wounds tear further…"
Zahir cut in, his tone calm but urgent. "Then he won't last the night."
---
Retreat from Hell
Together, the four wielders carried Ethan through the broken streets. Every step echoed with memories of the battle—the roar of Dravok, the endless tide of lesser demons, the screams of those who had fallen. Yet none spoke of it. Not now.
French military convoys had arrived at the outskirts, too late to join the fight but fast enough to gather survivors. Soldiers stared in stunned silence as the aura wielders approached, their presence larger than life. To them, these weren't just warriors—they were myths made flesh.
A commander rushed forward, saluting sharply.
"Quick! This way! We've cleared a triage zone at the Louvre ruins!"
The irony wasn't lost on Ishita. The Louvre, once a museum of humanity's greatest treasures, now reduced to rubble and blood, serving as a field hospital.
They laid Ethan on a cot, healers and medics swarming instantly. Bandages wrapped, blood transfusions attempted, aura-based healing techniques from France's water wielder Amélie channeled into his veins.
Yet even as his breathing steadied, the silence among the wielders grew heavier.
---
The Weight of Victory
Paris was saved—but at what cost?
Over fifty thousand civilians had died in a single night. Streets were carpeted with corpses. The Eiffel Tower, once a symbol of beauty, stood scorched and broken, half its frame collapsed into the Seine. The demons were gone, but their stain lingered everywhere.
Rehan clenched his fists, his knuckles bleeding.
"This… this is just the beginning. Isn't it?"
Akira's eyes opened slowly, his usual calm returning like a sheathed blade.
"Yes. The battle may be over, but the war… has only just begun."
Ishita lowered her gaze, guilt shadowing her expression. She could feel it—the stares from survivors, the whispers. Some looked at her with awe, others with fear. To them, the Scarlet Bloodline was both savior and curse.
If I weren't alive… maybe none of this would have happened.
But Rehan caught her wrist, sensing her thoughts without needing words. His voice was firm, almost harsh.
"Don't. Don't even think that. You're not their curse, Ishita. You're their only chance."
Her eyes widened, trembling at his conviction. For a fleeting second, the heavy burden in her chest lifted.
---
A Brother's Vow
Night deepened. Paris burned quietly under the stars, its silence only broken by the groans of the wounded.
Akira sat beside Ethan's cot, refusing to move. His hand never left Ethan's, his gaze locked as though daring fate itself to challenge him.
Rehan approached, crossing his arms.
"You and Ethan… you've fought together before?"
Akira's lips curved faintly—not in joy, but in memory.
"Ten years ago. At the International Martial Tournament. He was just a boy then, reckless, but his spirit… it burned brighter than anyone else's. I beat him in the finals. But from that day on, we became brothers."
Rehan raised an eyebrow. "And his aura? It awakened then?"
Akira shook his head.
"No. His aura awakened even earlier. Long before demons returned. He was born to fight, even before he knew what it meant. That's why… I'll never let him die here. Not in this war."
The silence stretched between them, until finally Rehan gave a small nod. For the first time, he saw the fire behind Akira's stoic eyes—not just a warrior's pride, but a brother's vow.
---
Dawn Over Ruins
By morning, the fires had dimmed. The smoke cleared, revealing the scars left on the city. Survivors wept, soldiers saluted the dead, and the world watched as news spread. Paris had fallen—and yet, Paris had endured.
Within the shattered heart of the city, the aura wielders gathered. Their bodies battered, their souls heavy, but their resolve sharper than ever.
Zahir looked at the rising sun, his voice steady.
"One city down. How many more before this ends?"
Akira rose, his coat sweeping behind him as he shouldered his blade. His words cut through the silence:
"As many as it takes. Until the last demon falls."
Rehan stepped beside him, Ishita at his other side. Their gazes met—not as rivals, not as strangers, but as comrades bound by war.
And so began the second arc of their journey—training, rebuilding, and preparing for the storm yet to come.
Because Paris was only the prologue.
The real war had yet to begin.